Sex and Rage: A Novel

This book stands as a testament to Eve Babitz's exceptional writing, particularly in her creation of the protagonist, Jacaranda Leven. Babitz does not merely write a character; she constructs a living, breathing paradox of "feral, sun-kissed" innocence and self-destructive cynicism that feels startlingly real.

Jacaranda is written with a rare psychological depth that avoids the trap of the unlikable "It Girl." Babitz masterfully portrays her not just as a beautiful surfboard painter drifting through 1970s Los Angeles, but as a complex vessel of vulnerability. The writing excels in showing Jacaranda's internal fracture: she is outwardly "lucky" and charming, yet inwardly terrified and hollowed out by the emotional abuse of Max. Babitz allows Jacaranda to be flawed without being irredeemable. The narrative voice captures her "pitiless self-reckoning" as she spirals into alcoholism, making her eventual courage to move to New York feel earned rather than convenient. Jacaranda is described as having "no sense of sin and no manners," yet Babitz writes her with such empathy that her transition from a "driftwood" existence to a serious writer becomes a compelling journey of reclaiming one's voice.

The story itself is a triumph of style and atmosphere. Babitz’s prose is "lush," "arch," and possesses a "dreamy, sun-soaked" quality that perfectly encapsulates the seedy glamour of Los Angeles. The narrative structure is loose and episodic, functioning like a series of film scenes. This "cinematic portrait" allows the story to flow with the languid pace of beach culture before tightening as Jacaranda confronts her demons in New York. Babitz’s writing is honed to a point, delivering "brilliant lines" that blend humor with stinging truth. She captures the superficiality of the Hollywood scene and the "toxic and intoxicating" nature of the era with a voice that is both detached and deeply intimate.

The story utilizes powerful metaphors, such as the "barge" representing the insulated, privileged world of Max and his circle. Babitz writes the tension between this floating paradise and the "crocodile-loaded river" of reality with a poetic ease that elevates the plot beyond a simple coming-of-age tale.

Ultimately, the greatness of Sex and Rage lies in Babitz's ability to make the specific universal. Through her exquisite writing, Jacaranda’s struggle to define herself against the "tango of sex and rage" becomes a timeless exploration of artistic identity and survival.

Beefalos

I'm unsure how I should rate or feel about this book. It's not terrible. I understand Jacarandas character and why she is the way she is (sometimes), but I couldn't really bring myself to care half the time. Her relationship with Shelby was unremarkable to me, her infatuation with Max made no sense to me, the way she responds to people confused me. I don't know what to feel.

A rollercoaster. Didn't deliver much of the sex or rage it promised, but it did deliver beautiful, incredible, inspired writing. If you, like me, have an aversion to the corny way some amerikans talk about L.A., you'll hate the first third of this book. It drops you right in the middle of that self obsessed, shallow, arrogant life style, and it's rough to get through, but it feels at least a little bit justified by where the story goes. The revolving door of glup-shitto-type-characters can feel a bit like forcing every L.A. archetype onto the page, but we do get some gems out of them (Sunrise Honey, I adore you).

Speaking of characters, I found Jacaranda to be a very interesting protagonist. Knowing she's a barely fictionalized self insert of Ms. Babitz made me a lot more sympathetic towards her, but she sure made it hard for me sometimes. I did find myself on her side the second she went sober though, sucker for recovering addicts as I am. I also saw the worst of me in some of the worst of her, so that was a journey in itself. Part of me wishes we had seen more of her actual relationship with Max to fully understand the fascination, but I think lack of information is often what make these relationships so intense.

This novel's third act was delightful to me, her New York adventures a very sweet contrast to the bitter Los Angeles hell she painted. I love Wini and Hudnut, Janet, Wally and I Love Sonia. The very reason she started writing. That lovely relationship made me feel like the book ended on a high note even though she was going back to that awful city. Overall, I think this is a fun read for Los Angeles and New York lovers and haters alike, for people interested in reading about alcoholism and sobriety, and it's a good time if you go in knowing what to expect.